


The Blood of a Dragon

by JadedLynx



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Realism, Sexual Content, references to past abuse, same warnings as canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedLynx/pseuds/JadedLynx
Summary: Alone and dejected, Sing discovers a dragon ornament in the Lee's abandoned manor. A few weeks later, a beautiful boy with a tattoo on his neck begins to appear in his dreams.*Rating may increase and tags may be updated as the story progresses.*
Relationships: Lee Yut-Lung & Sing Soo-Ling, Lee Yut-Lung/Sing Soo-Ling
Comments: 22
Kudos: 36





	1. All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> SingYue lovers, this story is for you. I absolutely love these boys with my whole heart and am so excited to write about them!
> 
> I'm going to be adding new chapters as frequently as I can, I will update the chapter count as the story progresses.
> 
> Special thanks to Daru for their amazing imagination and for inspiring me to write this!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

If memories could leave marks, remembering the day that Lao left would have caused a jagged and unsightly wound. Sing imagined that this invisible scar had become smooth and shiny over time. The initial shock and associated pain had dulled, but on sleepless nights in his cold apartment, loneliness ached within him. Apparently, it was possible to be both angry with someone and miss them terribly at the same time. 

Sing recalled the weeks leading up to his brother’s departure with hazy clarity. At the time, he hadn’t fully realised the extent of his brother’s disillusionment with the Chinatown gang, most notably, Shorter’s close friendship with Ash. He’d mistaken the deep resentment Lao held towards Ash as his typical moodiness, rather than a force that would indefinitely remove his brother from New York. 

“I am absolutely fucking _sick_ of Shorter bending over backwards to help that _white guy_ ,” Lao had spat, plunging his hand into hot soapy water as they washed up after dinner one night. Wherever possible, Lao opted not to refer to Ash directly. It was always ‘that white guy,’ or ‘the green-eyed prick’ and spoken with the same contempt that one might use when referring to a pest infestation rather than a person. “He’s a fucking jerk. I don’t get why I’m the only person who can see through his bullshit.”

There really was no bullshit to see through. Sing liked Ash, and Lao speaking out against Shorter caused his stomach to churn. Ash and his gang’s camaraderie with Chinatown had resulted in smoother dealings with clients and less bloodshed on the streets. It had been a win-win for both sides, and over time it had become even more obvious that that jealousy was the poisonous force driving Lao’s hatred. In Lao’s opinion, Shorter’s friendship was a finite resource that Ash was greedily hoarding for himself. Sing, hell, anyone with a brain knew that wasn’t true. Nobody had more love to share around than Shorter. 

Lao, however, remained unconvinced. “We were better off when we were doing our own thing,” he complained. “Not wasting our energy on some whorish pretty-boy who has Boss wrapped around his little finger. It’s sickening.”

Sing remained silent, focusing all of his attention on towelling dry the plate Lao had thrust into his hands. There was no point in arguing with his brother when he was acting like this. An uncomfortable silence fell between the two as they continued to wash up. Sing got the feeling that he needed to say something, _anything,_ to try and steer Lao’s mind away from the resentment that burned hot and wild inside of him. 

He inhaled as he stacked another plate inside the kitchen cupboard. “Uhh, hey.” 

Lao paused, and Sing felt a deluge of words bubble to his lips. It didn’t matter so much what he talked about, as long as whatever he said was interesting enough to stop Lao before he scrubbed a hole in the pan he was washing.  
  
“You still seein’ that girl from Hester Street?” He wanted to bite back those words the second they left his mouth. Lao, thankfully, didn’t appear to be bothered by Sing’s lack of tact.

“Nah. Decided to cut her loose. She kept yappin’ on about marriage, and I’m not playing that shit two months into a relationship.” Although his tone was sharp, the angry line etched between Lao’s eyebrows began to soften. Getting him to talk about something else seemed to be working.

“Guess it’s for the best,” Sing continued. “Besides, your hand would have gotten jealo- _hey!”_ Lao landed a soapy punch on his arm and the two burst into laughter. 

“You’re such an asshole.” Lao’s shoulders relaxed as he handed Sing a frypan to dry. The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

The tea towel was warm and damp in Sing’s hands, but he ignored it and kept talking. “You wanna do something fun together? Like, just us two?” He hoped that he didn’t sound too desperate. Lao had his own life and Sing had his. That was fine, but sometimes it would be nice to meet in the middle and at least pretend to be normal siblings for a little while. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d done something fun together that wasn’t illegal. 

“That’d be good, actually.” Lao’s expression softened as he resurfaced from his bad mood. “I’d like that.” 

Sing’s heart swelled.

“How ’bout we see _Ghostbusters?_ They’re showin’ the 80’s version over at the Regal on Delancey Street at 4pm tomorrow. Looks funny.”

“Anything’s fine. You good for money?”

“‘Course I am,” Sing lied. He could afford it, but he’d sooner eat his own tongue rather than admit to Lao that he’d spent almost all of his savings on that satin bomber jacket he had his eye on. He still hadn’t worn it. “I don’t spend it all on nudie mags like you do.”

Lao snorted and ruffled Sing’s hair. It felt good to have his brother back.

Before he went to bed that night, Sing splurged on two tickets with all the added extras. He refused to acknowledge the exorbitant total at the bottom of the computer screen, his eyes hovering over the ‘purchase’ button. Spending _all_ of his money on movie tickets and overpriced candy bar snacks probably wasn’t the smartest move, but Sing was fourteen years old and full of excitement. He’d have plenty of time to be financially responsible when he was an adult. If he could have a relaxing afternoon with Lao, maybe, just maybe, he could temper the resentment that threatened to engulf his brother entirely.

***

Sing awoke to an empty house, the faint aroma of coffee still lingering in the kitchen. He couldn’t recall a Saturday morning that didn’t start with Lao hollering for him to haul his ass out of bed and help him with the laundry. Instead of Lao barking orders and the rhythmic thrum of the washing machine, the only sounds Sing could hear were his own footsteps on the linoleum floor and the distant wails of a police siren.

A yawn escaped his mouth as he filled a bowl with leftover congee and poured himself some orange juice. It was weird eating breakfast alone. Lao always made such a big deal out of eating together, even when the both of them were too exhausted from gang work to summon the strength for eye contact. Although Sing had to admit that Lao’s tenacity for tradition could feel a little overbearing at times, it was comforting, at least, to have some sort of normalcy to return home to. Especially on those nights when all that Sing could think about were the bloodstains on his jeans.

A piece of crumpled paper on the kitchen bench top caught Sing’s eye as he swallowed another spoonful of his breakfast. 

**Will meet you at the movies.**

**\- Lao**

_He’s probably gone to beg that girl he split up with to take him back_. He groaned. It had happened before, and Sing still winced when he recalled the whiny mess his brother morphed into when the girl he liked dumped him over text that time. 

Sing was still a firm believer in the fact that playing _Street Fighter V: Champion Edition_ in his boxers would bring him more joy than any girlfriend ever could. Shorter and Lao just shared a knowing look when Sing bestowed that particular pearl of wisdom upon them. God, he hoped he didn’t become such a hopeless sap when he got older. Lao was _always_ going on about girls. _And_ boobs. _And_ other things Sing _really_ would rather not imagine his brother doing. 

_So annoying._

As he washed out his bowl and glass, Sing decided that fuck it, he _would_ wear his new bomber jacket. And the colourful Nikes that Shorter had dug out of his closet and given him. He combed his hair with his fingers and whistled the _Ghostbusters_ theme, energised by his excitement. Sing was going to take Lao’s mind off of everything, or at the very least provide an enjoyable distraction for a few hours. Today was gonna be fun.

***

Sing waited alone outside the movie theatre, one hand shoved deep into his coat pocket and the other gripping at his phone. Icy wind bit at his cheeks and turned the tip of his nose red. He rocked on the balls of his feet as he watched crowds of people flow in and out of the front doors. A little girl held her mother’s hand as they walked inside, and Sing lowered his gaze back down towards his phone screen. 

The movie started in fifteen minutes. He still hadn’t heard from Lao. 

Sing was halfway through sending his brother a text message to ask whether he wanted extra butter on his popcorn when his phone vibrated. Sing’s knuckles ached as he stared at Lao's message, as if rereading it would somehow change the meaning. 

**To:** Sing  
 **From:** Lao

_Can’t make it to the cinema and I’ll be home late. Sorry._

He watched the movie alone, restless and uncomfortable in his seat that seemed as though it had been specifically designed to dig into his spine and backside. The split in the corner of Sing’s lips stung as he forced handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. Laughter from the audience echoed around him, feeling more harsh and mocking rather than something that united people. Sing didn’t know when he stopped paying attention. It was just too difficult to focus when Lao’s unused ticket sat heavy and uncomfortable in his back pocket. 

He returned home two hours later to an empty apartment and booted up his PlayStation 4. Dinner was not an option - the thought alone was enough to make Sing wince. The combination of artificially flavoured popcorn and disappointment bubbled away like acid in the pit of his stomach.

His phone buzzed. 

Sing kept his gaze focussed on the television screen and loaded up a save file. The skin on his face felt tight and parched from the wind, but he didn’t want to shower just yet. Not when he could curl up on the couch and take out his frustration in the form of a poorly choreographed street fight. He almost laughed at the sheer irony of it.

His phone buzzed again.

 _I’m only checking in case it’s Shorter,_ Sing told himself, although he knew it was only a half truth. He knew exactly who the message was from without even looking.

**To:** Sing   
**From:** Lao

_Sorry I didn’t make it today, but I can’t stand this hellhole of a city any longer._

_I’m going to California. Don’t bother coming after me cos you won’t find me._

_Shorter knows I’m gone but doesn’t know any more than that. Had to leave before I started a gang war or something._

_You’re a good kid Sing. Sorry for being a shit older brother._

Bile rose in Sing’s throat as he reread the message for the third time. He didn’t even realise that he was crying until a tear slithered into the crack in his phone screen.

“ _No.”_ His voice was reduced to a harsh whisper as the dial tone was cut short again by a computerised voicemail message. He swore and tried again, now feeling anger rising within him. Lao didn’t pick up.

_This wasn’t how it was meant to be._

What was Sing meant to do now? How had he not noticed just how angry Lao was? Had he been planning this for a while, and if so, where was he even going to stay? How was he going to earn money? What if something happened to him? 

_Why did he leave me here?_

Sing’s fingers shook as he typed out a text message.

_“Please come home.”_

  
  



	2. Fire and Flames

A swig of NyQuil pulled Sing into the abyss of sleep, but it was anything but restful. The darkness felt smothering and unpleasant, an oppressive force that wiped his mind blank for a few hours before the panic of the day came surging back.

_Lao._

Sing woke up again for the fifth time that night, chest heaving and his forehead slick with sweat. He hated how powerless he felt as he re-read the message Lao had sent him a few hours prior. 

“ _I’m safe.”_

He wasn’t expecting an apology, because Lao didn’t apologise. Any time they argued or fought, Lao would make amends by bringing Sing’s favourite food home for dinner, or by offering to stand in for Sing when it was his turn to supervise deals. Sing knew better than anyone that talk was cheap and that actions spoke louder than words - he’d experienced those cliches in action. But god, sometimes it would have just been nice to hear his brother tell him that he was sorry.

Sing took what little comfort he could in Lao’s text message and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His phone read 4:00AM and there were no new messages from his brother. His heart sank into his stomach again as he squinted at his phone screen. Lao still hadn’t replied to Sing’s essay length text begging him to come home. 

A siren howled in the distance, setting off a chorus of lonely neighbourhood dogs. The narrow space of his bedroom felt as though it was caving in on him, and the squeaking of the neighbour’s mattress through the walls made Sing’s stomach turn. Was nighttime always so loud? Irritation rose within him. He knew if he punched the wall and yelled at his neighbours to shut up, there was a good chance his hand would puncture the shitty cardboard-like drywall. He needed to get out of the apartment before it swallowed him whole. 

The room spun as he rolled out of bed, the mixture of NyQuil and exhaustion still firmly holding Sing in its grasp. He allowed his body time to adjust to the sudden movement of standing up before grabbing his Flying Dragon Fang, a backpack and a small pair of bolt cutters. The front door locked behind him as he made his way down the stairwell, brimming with the kind of boldness that one can only experience when on their way to get up to no good. 

_I’m gonna break something._

The very thought itself was exciting, tempting him in a way that he hadn’t experienced so intensely before. Sure, he’d spray-painted the odd tag with some of the Chinatown guys and broken a few windows, but now, Sing seriously wanted to pulverise something. He’d never thought of himself as the type of person who allowed themselves to be consumed by anger. In fact, he prided himself on being reasonably level headed and rational. This morning, however, Sing had nobody to let down but himself. He needed to release his anger upon the world. To smash something up so well that his muscles burned and his lungs ached. Until he was too physically exhausted to acknowledge all of the pain that he was feeling. 

Flashing signs and the rising sun bathed the pavement in a hazy kaleidoscope of neons and pinks as Sing made his way to the subway station. His destination was about 45 minutes away, thirty by subway and fifteen by foot. Instinct spurred him to scan his surroundings as he waited for his train, only this time the thought of running into somebody who knew him was more undesirable than encountering a rival gang member. Sing could protect himself in a fight, but losing face by getting caught going to the abandoned Lee manor was something different entirely. 

***

He arrived, bolt cutters in his hand and heart in his throat. Physical exertion and time had quelled his anger, however Sing didn’t come all this way just to stand in front of the rent-a-fence surrounding the fire-ravaged house. Even after being burned down, the Lee manor still had an imposing presence. Its skeletal remains stood proud against the sky - pillars of charcoal that refused to give in to the elements. The back of the house and half of the roof was still intact, but nature was doing it's best to reclaim the structure. 

He’d visited the manor before with Shorter to take a look at the aftermath of the fire that tore through the building, but he hadn’t really thought too much about the place since. Nobody knew what caused the house to catch fire in the first place. The streets of Chinatown buzzed with rumours; a kitchen fire, rival gang attack and a scorned mistress were all ideas that ebbed and flowed around the town. Some even went so far as to say that the house was haunted, but gang warfare seemed significantly more likely.

 _What gang had the balls to attack one of the most powerful families in New York City though?_ A couple of smaller rival gangs had claimed that they were responsible, but Shorter and Ash had quickly dismissed the idea due to the sheer absurdity of it. Attacking such a powerful family was nothing short of a death wish, let alone the inherent difficulty associated with executing such an ambitious plan. Most of the Lee family had been killed in the fire, their bodies burned to cinders as the flames raged through their bedrooms. The only known survivor was Wang-Lung, the eldest of the Lees’ six sons. Shorter seldom spoke about him, other than warning that Wang-Lung was dangerous, and that any dealings with him should only be escalated to Shorter himself.

 _Shorter would kill me if he knew I was here. So would La-_  
  
His thoughts were cut short by a satisfying _snap_ as Sing broke the lock and chain on the fencing panels. He glanced around the area once more to ensure that he was alone before slipping through the gates to make his way towards the entrance of the house. Weeds and debris tugged at the bottoms of Sing’s jeans as he wandered into what he presumed was the sitting room, marvelling at how it was bigger than any apartment he’d ever lived in. The first rays of sunlight filtered in through dirt-caked windows, casting abstract patterns upon the plants and remnants of furniture inside. 

For a location at which such a horrific event occurred, it was surprisingly peaceful. The warbled cries of blue jays and crunch of Sing’s sneakers against the uneven ground echoed as he wandered into the depths of the lower floor. He wondered what it would have been like to live in such a grand house - it was the very antithesis of his dingy and cramped apartment. _Must be nice,_ he thought, _to not have to worry about things like food and dampness seeping into the walls_. Even with the fire damage, there was no question that the manor had been anything short of immaculate. Even the cornice itself was a work of art. The original gold paint had been discoloured, however the outlines of dragons and peonies still stood out against the fire damage. 

By now, Sing’s fury had well and truly abated - the storm was over before it had even begun. The thought of unleashing his anger upon what was left of the Lee’s house just seemed childish and embarrassing. A wave of shame washed over him. Sing didn’t want to be here anymore. He never should have come to start with. It was stupid and dangerous. Shorter would expect better of him - _what was he even thinking_ ? He wanted to go home, but also be anywhere _but_ home. 

He wanted Lao back.

Sadness rose within Sing like murky water. He felt like he was only seconds away from drowning in it, but some small part of him was determined enough to keep fighting, to keep his head above the riptide. He decided to sit down, arms wrapping around himself as if to prevent his body from falling apart. He refused to cry. He needed to focus on something else. 

A charred chest of drawers caught Sing’s eye. He hadn’t paid any attention to it before - it was practically ruined. But there was just _something_ about it that drew Sing in. He stood, his body heavy with exhaustion, and walked over to open one of the drawers. Looters had probably taken anything of value, but there was still a chance, however slim, that they’d missed something small Sing could pawn. 

He poked around in the first drawer, hoping to dear god that he didn’t find anything weird in there. He pulled a face as he recalled the time he accidentally discovered Lao’s stash of condoms while looking for a pair of scissors. He couldn’t look his brother in the eye for the rest of the afternoon. Shorter teased him about it relentlessly. 

Whatever was in that drawer had disintegrated beyond recognition, so Sing moved down to the next one. He tugged the handles gently, easing it out so that the entire structure didn’t crumble.

_There had to be something good in here, right?_

The contents of the second drawer didn’t fare any better. Sing sifted through the chunks of charcoal, ink-like soot staining the palms of his hands as he searched for anything of value. It would be cool if he could find a ring or some kind of jewellery, just something easy to sell that would give him a little extra cash to-

_Huh?_

Sing’s fingers grasped something cool and solid, his breath catching in his throat as he lifted the object out of the drawer. It was a small figure of a Chinese dragon, about 10 inches in length and intricately detailed with scales. Soot covered the dragon’s body - it was badly discoloured by fire, but its bared fangs glowed bronze under the sunlight pouring in through the open ceiling. Even in a state like this, it was by far one of the most beautiful things Sing had ever seen. He brushed a thumb over its face, almost feeling bad that ash had settled in around its eyes. 

There was something about the dragon’s expression that mesmerised Sing. It’s pose was defiant and proud - well aware of its own power and prestige, but it’s eyes harboured an emotion that he couldn’t quite place. Was it pain or loneliness? Grief, even? Sing turned the dragon over in his hands, as though examining it from a different angle would glean some kind of insight into the dragon’s feelings. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, sympathising with an inanimate object. It should have felt ridiculous, laughable even, to feel such closeness to something that was created purely for decorative purposes, and, by extension, wasn’t even Sing’s to begin with. But looking at the dragon had taken his mind off things and he felt a little lighter inside, as though sunshine was starting to shine through the cracks that Lao had left. 

_I should go,_ Sing thought, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder as he heard a branch snap. The sound was only a bird, but it was far too risky to hang around any longer in case somebody saw him. His stomach had started to ache with emptiness and his mouth watered at the very thought of food. Sing placed the dragon inside his backpack, and headed back towards the subway station, feeling less alone than he had all morning. 

_How weird._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter 3 (and Yue!) are coming soon! 
> 
> You can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Jaded_Lynx) for updates + Banana Fish loving!
> 
> Please leave a comment + kudos if you enjoyed, they seriously mean the world to me and help keep me motivated! ❤️


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